Of Goggles
by Detached
Summary: He sat there waiting. He merely stared at the blank screen, cigarette hanging from his mouth... What does he do now? What can he possibly do now?


**Detached:** Hello, everyone. It's been a while huh? Sorry about that. So I'm going to give you this little present as well as the next chapter of detached Memories. This came about because of a conversation I had on the bus with one of my friends one day. It was, "Hey, how come if Matt's the one wearing goggles, why doesn't he have a bigger role? Which got my head thinking…and the…this appeared. Ready? Note: Matt's real name used.

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He sat there waiting. He merely stared at the blank screen, cigarette hanging from his mouth, burning down to its butt. He didn't move a muscle, the game at his side, giving off a small tune, as it continued without him.

He continued to sit there, in what could only be described as disbelief, as if he was waiting for the picture to return. It didn't.

He jumped back suddenly as the burned out piece of the cigarette fell, singeing his lip, and for several seconds, several blissful seconds, only the small of burnt flesh and the stinging pain distract him from the screen.

But when he opens his eyes, the screen's still blank.

This time, he reacts, shoving the computer aside, frantically looking for problems, a malfunction, for anything. He knows he won't find anything, that his search is futile, because, after all, he created it. But this is better that facing reality. Anything is better than that.

Finally after checking everything twice, he sits back, panting. There wasn't anything wrong. But now what does he do? What can he possibly do? He looks down at his game.

It has reverted back to the main screen, he must have died. But strangely, he's not angry about it. And he realizes, with a sickening horror that this is the last time any of his games will ever be interrupted like that.

He couldn't feel, it took everything he had to take a breath. His eyes wander again, this time watching the screen, anything for the distraction.

He watches the screens change, seeing the main character slay a monster, and then carrying the princess, then fight back to back with another. Then the scene changes again, he's holding another one, a dying one, words can't be heard, it not like he would have registered speech right now anyway.

He watches the other respond, pulling off his goggles and passing them over. He watches the hero pull them on, and smile, tears running down his eyes. Then it fades again, but he's no longer paying attention.

He pulls on his own goggles, closing his eyes briefly, before standing and walking over to the desk.

He wants to wipe it clean, to throw away the millions of wrappers, like he's done so many times before, but this time, he can't bring himself to. He blinks rapidly, forcing away his tears. He sits, digging for the number that he knows the other has.

When he finds it he feels like shouting. But he doesn't have time for that, he doesn't have time for anything, because he knows if he stops, that he'll break down, and he can't do that. Not right now, anyway.

The voice picks, up he knew it would, he always would, and that was just how it was.

"Yes?" it questioned, after not hearing anything.

He said two words, and those two words were the hardest ones he's ever had to say, and he felt a part of his heart break away as he said them.

"Mello's dead."

He couldn't cry, not now, his heart was dead. It was as if calmness had enveloped him, sweeping his heart away.

They talked; Matt knew that he couldn't have done it alone. He wasn't as smart as Mello, and he was nowhere as smart as the other.

But he had to do this.

This was the only way to keep himself together.

People didn't become leaders, they were them.

Matt was too, he had just become too complacent, too used to being the second in command.

There had been a time when he had been a leader. Granted it was a long, long time ago, but it was still there, embedded into his memory.

Mello had just relieved him of that.

Mello had given him the structure he wanted, the rules that he'd needed. But he knew now, just as he had known then, that it couldn't have lasted.

And when their relationship had given him even more control, when Mello had allowed him to return his feelings, he had known the end was coming.

Because Mello's face stained with ecstasy was more beautiful than any angel.

When they finished talking, Matt pulled out a list and began to write furiously, anything to keep his mind off the usual planner. He had the control now and he would use it, no matter what bothered him beneath the surface.

Just like it had been with Mello.

None knew that their mafia leader had nightmares, none knew what he looked like when he smiled properly, none knew how quietly he could eat his chocolate; only Matt knew, only Matt was given that kind of control.

He just had more of it now.

He made other calls, telling others that it was him now, and not to fuck around with orders, Mello made them, he was going to keep them. He also began to set his plan into action, not to mention others to check out the building. Maybe there was something there, even if his angel wasn't.

The door opened.

"Hey, asshole, you're late, he said swirling the chair around, already in control of his power, the main character he was. He heard a groan, and a voice spoke.

"Good to see you too." He snapped his head up.

This time, he couldn't breathe.

There he was, his blood covered angel, who had somehow escaped the grasp of god to return, return to him.

He dragged himself over to the desk, somehow still looking grotesquely regal, even with the destroyed leather and slashed face.

He jumped into action, ripping the desk drawer out, for the medical kit. Mello let himself fall into the striped arms, another color adding to the black and white that had been his life.

He pulled Mello over to the couch, and cleaned him up, never saying a word, terrified that this was some crazed dream he had created for himself. His heart was beating rapidly, threatening to push it self out of his chest.

He went over to the desk again, pulling up his papers. He finally opened his mouth, and started to talk to the other, telling him what he had done, learned, and planned.

"Shut up." He did, instantly.

The blue eyes looked up to him, hazed with pain, the blood matted hair framing the face like a halo.

"Didn't I promise you…that you wouldn't ever have to be a main character?" the eyes closed again as he let out a hoarse cough.

"Didn't I promise you that…Mail?"

Matt smiled, looking behind him. He ripped the piece of the notepad out, tossing it into the wastebasket.

Then he pulled his goggles off.

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**Detached:** So what do you think? Twenty minute special. Yep. Felt like sharing. Nothing more to say, I guess. Not really sure that this follows the books but…I like it. Wasn't quite sure what to rate it…so tell me. M or T? I picked T but...


End file.
